


Untitled

by itsgoodtobeking



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood, Off-screen torture, ambiguous ending?, eye gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsgoodtobeking/pseuds/itsgoodtobeking
Summary: Oswald throws himself against the ropes tight around his middle, chair legs scraping over concrete. "I'll have your heads for this!" He snarls, a gob of spit hitting his shoe. "I'll skin you alive!"Her smile tightens. "...Sure you will."(A fic entirely inspired by Ed's expression in the promo pic for s3xe14. I tried for a minimalist approach -- wanted to see how hard I can punch while leaving a lot of detail and introspection out. Not sure if it works, but hey. I've never written Ed, Stabby Babs, or Tabs before, so that was kind of fun.)





	

" _Aaaw_ , how cute; he still thinks he's in charge."

A muscle flexes in Oswald's temple as he looks between them, hands clenching and unclenching. Blood dots his wrists where ropes have rasped his skin. "I demand to know where Ed is this instant, or I assure you, I--"

A slap to the face cuts him off, his head whiplashing from the force. He blinks, stunned.

" _Ooh_ ," Tabitha  purrs. "That felt _good_."  She flexes her fingers, pleased their strength is returning.

Barbara slants her a smile before looking to _Mayor Crumblepot_ , admiring the bloody tracks Tabitha's nails have gouged into his cheek. "In case you haven't noticed, things are changing around here. And the sooner you get that into your little bird-brain --" she taps his forehead like a woodpecker listening for a hollow trunk, "the easier this whole transition will be for you. You _lost_ , Ozzie. Give it up; you've had your fun - and you screwed up royally."

He stares up at her, taut-faced, unflinching; Barbara just holds his gaze, that pretty little smile never reaching her eyes. "But don't worry," she adds, after a moment, tossing her hair, "you're still invited to my big party if you ask me nicely."

Oswald throws himself against the ropes tight around his middle, chair legs scraping over concrete. "I'll have your heads for this!" He snarls, a gob of spit hitting his shoe. "I'll skin you alive!"

Her smile tightens. "...Sure you will." She gingerly pats his head. His hair's matted with sweat and tacky gel and she makes a face, drying her hand on Oswald's vest. "Ew."

Tabitha crosses her arms.

"You're not just going to let him talk like that, are you? ...Didn't your mother ever teach you some manners? Even that old _hag_ knew how to say please." Her voice shoots up into a falsetto, mimicking a heavy, unplaceable accent. "' _Please don't hurt me! I'm innocent! Please, help me, Oswald!'_ "

His face twists into something animal, eyes going wide, a cold, fierce blue. Under the dingy wash of light they glitter like broken glass. "How _dare_ you!"  He shouts, and Tabitha watches him thrash, his chest heaving with powerless rage. His defiance isn't just a challenge - it's an invitation she gladly accepts.

"Five minutes," She insists, flatly and unfazed - and for a moment she reminds Barbara of her brother. "I'll make him beg like a bitch. He'll do anything you say."

 _Pengy already will_ , Barbara thinks, once she has Gotham wrapped around her pinkie finger. But she can't resist lifting a hand to her open mouth and playing at shock even as a smile hovers at the edges of her lips. " _Baby_..." She breathes, as if it's the most romantic proposition she had ever heard.

"Well we can't let _you-know-who_ have all the fun."

Barbara's jaw sharpens. "And he _won't_." She assures her, holding her gaze steady. Then the moment passes and she brightens with fiendish glee. "...Okay!" She chirps. "Fine. _Five_ minutes."

Oswald makes a noise in his throat, his back jammed against wood. His breath comes shorter, faster.

Tucking a finger under Tabitha's chin, Barbara presses a chaste kiss to her lips before stepping back to give her room. Tabitha pulls away, cool and purposeful, taking a moment to roll the kinks out of her shoulders before sliding her whip from the holster at her belt. She lets it dangle slack, sizing up her target before winding back and throwing all her weight into her swing. The whip slices through air, snapping just inches from Oswald's face. He yelps and shrinks into his chair, squeezing his eyes shut as if he can will himself to disappear.

"Be gentle, Tabby." Barbara says, watching as his legs tremble bonelessly. "I think it's his first time."

They laugh.

\----------------------------------

Edward Nygma stands outside the storage room, his back to the door, mentally laying his plan out, neatly, like pens before taking an examination. Biding his time. He straightens at the first shaky gasp he hears, half turning his head. But there's no need to look in through the small square of a window.

He hears a whistle and a vicious, meat-dulled snap, over and over. Whimpering breaths in between.

('this is for butch, too')

(' _really_ , tabby?')

Ed stares at nothing when a scream rings out, crawling back into his mind.

It might be an hour or minutes later when he realizes it's gone quiet. He listens hard. The silence is thick, smothering.

"What a baby..." He hears Tabitha say after a beat.

Ed realizes his hands are trembling faintly. He stares at them, annoyed. It won't stop.

\---------------------------------

He blinks, whirling around.

Barbara's standing in the doorway, arms akimbo, staring at him. "Hello -- earth to Eddie? It's showtime. Your _boyfriend's_ been asking for you non-stop. It's getting annoying - please shut him up."

Ed's jaw shifts. He swallows. He can hear the muscles in his throat click.

"Oh, and Tabby softened him up a little for you. She's not so good at the whole waiting thing." 

I heard." Something dark passes over Ed's face. "...How thoughtful." Then, equally flatly, his voice low and full of grit:  "Just remember our agreement."

A sigh through her nose. "Relax, Braniac - he's all yours now." she says, stepping back inside. Ed follows her.

\---------------------------------

The rise and fall of his chest is a shallow thing, easy enough to miss while distracted by the blood spatters spreading dark and hungrily through his sleeves, his pant legs. He's slumped in the chair, so still he could've been dead.

"Come on, sleepyhead." Barbara swats at Oswald's face. "Ugh -- I said wake _up!_ "

A particularly vicious slap brings him back with a gasp. Oswald jerks, swinging his head around.

"See?" She says it carelessly, a 'good as new' sort of way. "He's fine."

Oswald's gaze locks on Ed, wild and filled with swarming hate. But then something clicks. His whole face softens, lost. A breath shudders out of him - relief, maybe - and he stares, mouth hanging open. His throat bobs in a few false starts. "Ed...?"  It's barely above a whisper. "... Ed, is that you?"

He looks sick, whiter, like he's on the edge of blacking out or throwing up.

Ed's lip curls. His fingers itch, his pistol heavy under his suit jacket. Days of meticulous planning and preparation have culminated to this - the mayor trapped and helpless and rightfully shaken, Ed ready to brutally shove every one of Oswald's lies down his throat until something in him breaks. And yet, something's wrong.

He closes the distance between him and Oswald, feeling a sharp twist in his gut as he blinks details into focus. An angry welt cuts across Oswald's nose at an angle and over a sunken lid. The globe of his left eyeball has deflated, swimming in blood. Fluid slides down his face like runny egg.

Ed throws Tabitha a look over his shoulder, baring a hint of teeth. "What did you do?" He asks, voice raw around the edges.

She shrugs. "He wouldn't stop squirming."

Ed takes that in, blinking.

"Are you alright? ...Did they hurt you?" Oswald presses, searching his face with an anxious, pleading look. And Ed can't stand it, a muscle rippling in his jaw as a darker part of him suddenly wishes he had left Oswald to choke on his own blood in the woods so long ago. How easy it could've been.

Nobody answers Oswald- but in that silence, an eternity compressed into ten, maybe fifteen seconds, Ed can feel it, can feel all their eyes burning into him.

"I'm sorry, Oswald." Ed says, finally, into half-darkness.

He knows that isn't all true, either. Not as he watches hope drain from Oswald's face and fear leech into his one eye and remembers that this is what Isabella must have felt seconds before the train punched into her car and crumpled it like a pop can, folding metal and bone. He holds onto that white flash of rage as he sucks in a sharp breath, ripping his gun free and squeezing the trigger, knuckles white. Two shots ring out, the muzzle flash lighting up his snarling face.

Gotham moves on without missing a beat.


End file.
